


Piña

by Hormonal_Trashbag



Series: Home is Where the Heart is [8]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 13:10:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9236558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hormonal_Trashbag/pseuds/Hormonal_Trashbag
Summary: Ben isn't feeling so well. Thankfully, Rey knows just how to take care of him.Can be read as a stand-alone fic.





	

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a long time since I've posted something for this series! I've had this idea for awhile and I finally got around to writing it.

Rey woke at four in the morning to Ben careening from the bed and hurtling towards the bathroom with long strides, large hand clapped over his mouth.

 

“Ben,” she started in bleary confusion, “are you okay--”

 

Her question was interrupted by the dreadful sound of him retching. She sighed, glaring at the digital clock on her bedside table; in a few hours, she needed to be out the door and heading to school. Rey had stayed up later than usual to grade tests--sadly, they would be returned to her students bleeding--and she really needed her rest.

 

Ben gave a deep, gagging cough that echoed in their small bathroom from behind the shut door. Rest would have to wait. She tossed back the comforter, resigning herself. Helmet Hair made a low, dangerous sound from the foot of the bed when the blanket flopped over him, displeased with all the commotion.

 

Ben did not get sick often. He praised himself on having such a strong immune system, but when he did fall ill, it was a horrid affair. The symptoms were bad enough, a cocktail of vomiting and severe migraines and a feverish haze, but Ben simply didn’t handle it well. His mood usually deteriorated the longer it lasted, until he was a nightmarish bear to deal with.

 

The wood flooring was cold under her footsteps. She padded into the kitchen to fetch him a glass of water before returning, yawning as she went. Rey knocked quietly on the door and he flushed the toilet.

 

“I’m coming in,” she told him, not bothering to ask for permission.

 

He always got so self-conscious when he was sick and if she _asked_ to come in, he’d undoubtedly try to deny her entrance. Rey was in no mood for that sort of nonsense.

 

His hulking form was hunched over the toilet, his red face pressed against porcelain and his eyes clamped shut, little beads of sweat gathered on his forehead. She kneeled next to him to push his hair from his face, fingers grazing against hot, sticky skin.

 

She offered him the glass, whispering, “Drink this. It’ll help.”

 

He blindly reached towards the sound of her voice, eyes still closed, and she guided the glass towards his open palm. He lifted his head minimally to sip at the water she had brought him, little dribbles spilling over the lip of the glass and across his cheek as he drank at an odd angle. He returned the glass to her half empty, then rested his head against the rim of the toilet bowl once more, huffing a pained sigh.

 

“Do you think you’ll be sick again?”

 

He answered with a slow shake of his head.

 

Rey stroked her hand up and down the length of his arched back. She hated seeing him so pathetic.

 

“Do you want to go back to bed?”

 

Ben inclined his head once.

 

She made him brush his teeth as she examined the contents of their medicine cabinet. They didn’t have any flu medication so she snatched the bottle of Tylenol instead, dropping two tablets into his open palm when he held it up expectantly.

 

In bed, he curled in on himself, knees up to his chest and arms around his bent legs, and she pulled the comforter back over them both, kissing the back of his head and the nape of his neck and along his shoulder before settling in behind him, her arm resting in the slight dip of his trim waist.

 

“You’re the perfect mom,” he croaked.

 

Rey bit her lip to keep from smiling. He was likely delirious from the fever but something warm and hopeful glowed in her chest at his claim.

 

“Go to sleep,” she breathed, burrowing her face between his shoulder blades.

 

* * *

 

Rey tapped her foot to an impatient tempo, in line at the grocery store’s fifteen items or less register. The person in front of her most definitely had more than fifteen items, but there seemed to be perks to being friends with the cashier if their easy banter was anything to go by. Finally, she was able to put her things on the belt. Over the counter flu meds and seltzer water and saltine crackers and a fresh pineapple--grown in Hawaii, according to the bright sticker--jolted in beats towards the cashier as he slowly scanned his friend’s purchases and made light, meaningless conversation.

 

She usually stayed after school for an hour or two to offer her students a quiet place to do homework or ask questions that hadn’t been answered during the allotted class time, but with Ben sick at home, she hardly felt comfortable sticking to her usual routine. He hadn’t texted her in a few hours and for all she knew, he had drowned himself in a cool bath or overdosed on something.

 

The customer in front of her left with a cheery farewell and Rey answered the cashier’s greeting with a flat, “Yes, I found everything fine.”

 

With her purchases in a paper bag, she rushed home to the apartment, storming up the narrow stairwell, taking the steps two at a time.

 

Ben was fine, of course. She allowed her shoulders to slump in relief at seeing him on the couch, the comforter from their bed half covering him, his feet hanging off the end. The television was on to a cooking show, and he tipped his head back to tiredly look at her from over the armrest.

 

“You’re back,” he moaned, relaxing his neck.

 

She set her paper bag on the kitchen table, allowing her messenger bag to fall from her shoulder and onto a chair, before rushing over.

 

She brushed her lips against his forehead. “You’re alive.”

 

Rey glanced at the two-hundred-milliliter bottle, the pink one she usually brought to the gym, pleased to see he had emptied its contents, as she had insisted before leaving for work.

 

“I’m not going to die so easily,” Ben said, sliding his hand into hers, affectionately squeezing.

 

She gave him a doubtful look. “Were you sick again since I left?”

 

“Once,” he admitted, “this morning.”

 

He was sweaty and quite frankly, gross, but she combed his hair back anyway. “If you’re up to it, I got a pineapple at the store. They were on sale.”

 

“Discount pineapple?” he snickered. “I love you.”

 

She beamed down at him. “You’d better.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
